When We Were Young
by Zoi Balletta
Summary: Everything about the boy was mysterious, the way he held himself, why he was in the tree, the cigarette he held between the fingers of his right hand, but his most strikingly mystifying feature were his eyes. They were a clear blue, bright enough for Ian to see even from nearly three yards away, but there was some other quality held within them, a dark shadow.


Ian Gallagher hated soccer. Or at least he hated it right now, he was nine years old, and had recently had a rather large growth spurt, making his limbs gangly and difficult to control. He wasn't used to taking such lengthy steps as he walked, wasn't used to having long legs that were far too easy to trip over as he ran. At the moment, he was at a park playing with Lip, kicking the ball back and forth, running after it when one of them inevitably let it fly past them. He had fallen twice in the last few minutes, and Lip was still laughing a little about his last tumble.

He passed the ball to Lip, keeping his gaze on his toes, attempting to be more aware of where he was placing his feet. His cautiousness quickly backfired on him as Lip kicked the ball back and Ian glanced up too late, stumbling backwards as it sailed over his head. He tripped, landing on his butt, barely keeping his head from whacking into the ground by steadying himself with his arms. Ian sighed, pushing into a sitting position and rubbing at his elbows while Lip's laughter rang out around him.

"Screw you." He said, glaring at his brother, and Lip offered him his hand, still chuckling as he did so. Ian took it, pulling himself up into a standing position and dusting off his jeans. Lip still wore a wide smile across his cheeks, making Ian scowl.

He sighed and glanced behind him, wondering where Lip had sent the ball flying off to, and he looked back at his brother when he saw that it wasn't nearby. "Where'd the ball go?"

Lip had finally stopped laughing, and gestured towards a small clump of trees near the corner of the park. "Over there somewhere." He said, and giggled again slightly, making Ian frown.

"You kicked it, you go get it." He stated, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin.

"Hey, it isn't _my_ fault that you fell on your ass!" Lip told him, his eyes narrowing in an equally stubborn way. They stared at each other momentarily, each waiting for the other to break.

Ian sighed, uncrossing his arms and walking towards where the ball had supposedly ended up, Lip would stand there all day, refusing simply because he could. "You're a dick." He called over his shoulder, not waiting for a response before picking up his pace to a jog.

There were three trees shading the closest corner of the park, all rather large, with gnarled roots sticking up out of the ground haphazardly. One of them must have been nearly a hundred years old, nearly half of it covered in moss and with branches reaching high up above the buildings surrounding the open expanse of land. There were a couple bushes near the base of the tree, and after determining that the ball wasn't laying on the street or behind the trees, he started prodding through the nearest one, avoiding being poked by the branches. He didn't see the soccer ball inside the first bush, and was walking towards another bit of shrubbery when he heard a voice.

"It's in the other one."

Ian's neck whipped around, a red hot flare of pain starting up at the nape from the speed of it. He rubbed at it, peering around the trees to find the owner of the voice, and heard a snort of amusement coming from the disembodied voice.

"Um... Hello?" He questioned, wondering if he was hearing things.

A short laugh came, this one clearer in it's sound. This time he tilted his head, trying to find the direction the sound was coming from, and he finally looked upward, his eyes landing on a young boy lounging in one of the branches of the tree. He appeared to be about Ian's age, with black hair that made his pale skin almost shine in contrast. He was short for his age, and skinny in a lean sort of way that was familiar to those who didn't always know where their next meal was coming from. Everything about the boy was mysterious, the way he held himself, why he was in the tree, the cigarette he held between the fingers of his right hand, but his most strikingly mystifying feature were his eyes. They were a clear blue, bright enough for Ian to see even from nearly three yards away, but there was some other quality held within them, a dark shadow, like he had seen more in his few years on earth than most would in a life time, making them older than the rest of him, more tired.

"Your ball? It's in the other fucking bush, genius." He said, taking a drag on his cigarette as Ian rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, thanks." He called up to the brunette, letting his arms dangle at his sides as he just simply stared up at the boy, completely transfixed.

"So, You gonna get it? Or just stand there looking like a dumbass all day?" The boy snarked, and Ian snapped out of his stupor, blinking rapidly.

He cocked his head to the side, still not quite back to earth. "Get what?"

The blue eyed boy rubbed at his temple with the hand that wasn't occupied with a cigarette. "The ball, carrot top, get the fucking ball."

Ian's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed red hot as he muttered, "Oh, yeah, the ball."

He scurried towards the aforementioned bush, and the other boy laughed yet again, a sound that made butterflies flap inside of his stomach. A twig jabbed him in the face as he retrieved the soccer ball and he felt a heat creep up his neck yet again. He clutched the ball to his chest, glancing up just as the other boy took another pull on his cigarette. He was fascinated by the action of it, which was strange because he'd lived with smokers his whole life. Frank smoked, Monica smoked, his older cousins smoked, Fiona smoked sometimes, Lip was sure to start up soon, but this seemed different. The way he exhaled, the fumes leaving his mouth in a murky cloud, was somehow an innate action.

His eyes fixed onto the hand holding the cigarette, knuckle tattoos fresh and dark, and something clicked in his head. "You're Mickey Milkovich."

He knew the Milkoviches in the vague manner that he knew most large families who lived in a three block radius of him. He knew they had a ton of kids. He knew that their dad was a violent drunk and a drug dealer, and that he refused to deal to Frank after some unfortunate events that ended with Frank getting the shit beat out of him. He had been in little league with Mickey, though it had only been for a couple weeks, long enough for Mickey to get himself kicked off the team in a hilariously brash fashion.

The dark haired boy nodded and he raised a solitary eyebrow, "What's it to you?" He questioned swinging his legs off the branch so he was facing Ian more directly, going directly on the defensive.

"Nothing," Ian shrugged, trying to think of some common ground to work off of. "I know your sister."

"A lot of people do, Gallagher." He stated, kicking his legs back and forth absentmindedly.

Ian felt a small smile growing on his face, gradually widening has he realized that Mickey had recognized him too, not even slightly put off by the other boy's unwillingness for conversation. "It's Ian."

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna stick with Gallagher." Mickey responded, blowing smoke out through his nose, making Ian's eyes widen slightly.

Lip shouted at Ian from across the park, something he couldn't clearly hear, and he waved back at him and held up one finger, signaling for his brother to wait. He glanced down at the ball clutched in his hands, suddenly nervous. He didn't want to walk away, this was a chance conversation, something that would be hard to replicate, and he found himself engrossed by Mickey. He wanted to talk to him, wanted to learn more about the boy who sat in trees and smoked and didn't seem to give a shit what other people thought about him.

Lip yelled again, this time more clearly Ian's name, and Ian sighed, steeling himself and looking up towards Mickey. "Thanks for the help with the ball. I'll see you around I guess?" He asked, hoping for the best.

"Maybe." The dark haired boy replied, shrugging his shoulders and throwing his now finished cigarette into the grass. Ian nodded, catching one last glimpse of Mickey before he heard an angered yell from his brother.

He flipped Lip off, but conceded his defeat, waving at Mickey as he trotted back towards Lip "Okay, uh, bye then!" He exclaimed. He heard no response.

Ian ended up visiting the park a lot that summer. It wasn't all that unusual for him, he liked going to parks, he liked the semi-fresh air, he liked having room to run, he liked having the sun down on him, but now he found his eyes drawn to the old tree. More often then not, he would spot a figure lounging high in the branches, leaning his back against the thick trunk. He would wave, hoping to catch Mickey's eye. When he did, the boy would wave back, and Ian would feel as if his whole body was glowing with acceptance.

It became a regular thing, nothing incredibly big, but something that would lighten Ian's day a little bit, give him a little confidence boost. He often wondered why Mickey was always up there, why he was all alone, but he never went back to start a conversation, too scared to disrupt the equilibrium he had established. Instead, he let himself imagine how a conversation would go, constructing it in his head as he would play with Lip, thinking up a thousand ways to casually start an exchange, but he never got a chance to use them

Three months after their first encounter, Mickey stopped showing up. Ian would still check the tree for the boy far into the spring, but he never came back. By the next summer, Ian had all but forgotten about it.

A seventeen year old Ian Gallagher found himself in a very familiar park in middle of the night. He knew he was supposed to be home by now, he usually came straight home after work, but he had ended up drinking more than usual, and after puking in the car, his cabbie had kicked him out, leaving him only a few blocks from home. He hadn't made the conscious decision to wander, but he hadn't felt ready to get to bed yet. He had had a pleasant alcoholic fog clouding his thoughts and giving him a peaceful feeling he hadn't had for a long time.

He looked up towards the moon as he walked in the direction of the tree. He wasn't sure where the sudden burst of recollection had come from, but as his eyes searched the heavens for constellations and patterns in the sky, his feet carried him forward until tall leafy branches blocked out the stars. Summer nights in Chicago were always his favorite. There was a strange peace to them, a tranquil silence that contrasted hugely with the total chaos of life, disrupted only by the odd slam of a car door as someone got home, or a couple loud voices speaking drunkenly. The hot air had cooled some by the time the sun dipped down past the horizon, making the temperature waver in the seventies, letting Ian walk around in a tee shirt quite comfortably.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily as he moved along the tree, tracing his fingers along the mossy bark, letting the silence and press into him and empty all thoughts from his mind.

He felt a buzzing in his pocket and took out his phone, only to realize that it was a stupid alarm from some game telling him that he hadn't played in a few days. However, his eyes fixed onto the time, and he frowned. It was just past three thirty in the morning, he was supposed to be home about forty minutes beforehand. He hoped that Mickey had fallen asleep, that he hadn't stayed up waiting for Ian as he was wont to do. He unlocked his phone and found Mickey in his contacts, deciding to make sure that he hadn't accidentally made his boyfriend think that he'd been drugged and taken home by some geriatric.

Mickey picked up on the third ring, his voice rough and angry, but with a desperation to it that took the edge off of the irritation."Where the fuck are you?"

Ian laughed a little bit, somehow finding Mickey's reaction humorous, and he said the first thing that came to his mind. "You're always so grumpy, you know that? You're a little grumpy kitten." He giggled at the idea of it, then added. "My grumpy kitten."

"Are you fucking high?" Mickey questioned after a short pause, and Ian snorted, shaking his head.

"Nope, not high, probably drunk though, I had a lotta vodka, did you know that vodka tastes really fucking good with fruit and stuff in it?" He said, hoping to change the subject from the road it was currently heading down, and he sighed in relief when Mickey took the bait.

"Of course you would get drunk off your ass on fuckin' sorority girl drinks." He muttered, and Ian felt bad momentarily, he hadn't meant to worry Mickey. "Where are you?"

"At the park." He stated, wondering if Mickey even remembered all those years ago, wondered if it had just been in his own head, if Mickey had never thought of their conversation again. "the one with the soccer ball and the tree." He rambled on, "That tree's still here, didjah know that?"

"How the fuck did you end up there? I thought you were coming straight home after your shift?" Mickey asked.

Ian giggled a little to himself, self-assurance flooding through him as he grappled with the idea that Mickey had remembered. He still wasn't quite used to Mickey being so open and honest. This was the new Mickey, the Mickey who didn't have to lie anymore, not to Ian at least. This was the Mickey that Ian had created selfishly, pushing him to give until he had nothing left but himself, and then making him hand that over too. This was the Mickey that didn't hide, and Ian loved him just as much as he had loved the old Mickey, but he would sometimes wonder what had made him push so much. He would ponder why he needed the constant validation when Mickey was always, _always_, giving Ian everything he had.

"Were you worried about me Mickey, were you waiting for me?" He asked, letting out a little giggle at his own expense, sniffing slightly, wondering why his eyes were suddenly wet. He was fine, everything was fine.

"Fuck off." Mickey replied, and Ian full on laughed this time, a wet sound that felt halfway between ecstatically happy and terribly sad.

"You so were, you were worrrriiieeeddd." He stated in a singsong voice, letting out another chorus of laughter.

He heard Mickey sigh on the other end of the line, and he smiled. Mickey was always like that, sighing like some grumpy old man who was sick of telling small children to get off his lawn. "Okay chuckles, how the fuck are you in that goddamn park at three in the fucking morning?"

Ian's laughter quieted a little and he contemplated Mickey's question. How had he gotten there, he knew the facts, he could remember walking here, he wasn't so drunk that he would forget, but why was he _here_, in this park, of all the places he could have wandered to, why was he _here_. "I puked, cabbie kicked me out, I went for a walk." He replied, his voice quieter now, the jovial quality gone as fast as it had arrived.

"It's like a ten minute walk from the house, why didn't you just come home?" Mickey asked, and Ian could hear him moving, hear a door slam, and he knew Mickey was coming to get him.

He sat there for a minute, thinking about it. He hadn't wanted to go home, he wasn't ready to go home. There had been electricity flowing through his veins, every neuron firing as he had walked down the street in the cool night. No, he couldn't have gone home. "The air felt nice, and I didn't want to wake you up." Ian told him, settling on a half truth that would pacify Mickey for the time being.

Mickey sighed on the other end of the line. "Okay." He said.

They sunk into a comfortable silence, both of them staying on the line despite the fact that neither of them were speaking. He listened to Mickey's quiet breathing, leaning his back against the old tree and letting himself slide down until he was in a sitting position.

He tipped his head up towards the sky, which was partially obscured by the leafy branches of the tree, and let his mind wander. He hadn't been able to do this lately, to just sit down and think. His thoughts were always jumbled together, he would jump from one to the next so quickly that he would loose track of whatever idea he had began with. It was disconcerting, and sometimes he just wanted to slow down, to let it be silent for a while, but there was an itch under his skin, a need to _do something_, to not waste the time he had, and a minute later he would forget that he was completely terrified of his own mind and he would have a new fixation.

He welcomed his inebriation, letting it cocoon him in it's blurred comfort and mist over his brain. The stars fascinated him, they were surprisingly visible tonight for a large city, and he found himself gazing up at one of them in particular. He knew what that star was, he had learned it at some point for ROTC, when he was figuring out how to navigate without a compass. It wasn't the north star, that would have been in a different direction, but it was something distinct that he _should_ know. Was it part of the big dipper? Or was it Orion's belt? He was so wrapped up in his stargazing that he did't notice Mickey approaching until he was standing right in front of Ian.

The older boy tucked his phone into his pocket and crouched down in front of Ian. His focus shifted from the sky to Mickey, and for a moment he seemed brighter than any star he could find in the endless tapestry of the night sky that lay above him. Mickey's creamy skin was drawn into sharp contrast of the shadowy world around them and his eyes almost appeared to be glowing in the dark, their icy-blue turned to the translucent glassy-color of sea glass. He was wearing his dirty white tank top and a pair of baggy jeans, had a dark smudge that was probably dirt on his shoulder, and looked incredibly tired. Ian didn't think he had ever seen something so beautiful.

He smiled at his boyfriend, whose gaze softened considerably. "Hey," Mickey said, his voice was hushed, but it cut through the silence of the surrounding world like a knife. "Whatcha doin' out here? You becoming one with nature or some shit?"

His smile grew wider, finding Mickey's comment unusually amusing in his intoxicated state. He patted the ground next to him, signaling for Mickey to sit down. "Reminiscing, I guess, kept thinking 'bout back then" He told the older boy.

Mickey lowered himself down next to him so that their legs were flush against each other. His skin was hot like fire, burning into Ian's skin, sending tingles through his body. He didn't know why that still happened, every time he touched Ian it was an inferno, igniting his very being and making him fall for Mickey over and over again. It was one of the only things that made him feel really alive, and he knew that Mickey felt it too, half a year ago he would have doubted it, but now he was certain.

Mickey tipped his head back against the tree, staring up towards the leafy branches that he used to know so well. "Didn't think you remember that."

It took a second for him to remember their conversation, and when he did he laughed a little, still surprised that _Mickey_ had remembered it, and nudged the smaller boy's shoulder with his own, nearly tipping him onto his side. Mickey stabilized himself and grinned at Ian, bumping back into him lightly

"Course I do," Ian said. "I thought you were sooo cool, all aloof and stuff, I used to want to go talk to you." He felt silly remembering that now, it was strange how little he used to know about Mickey, how little he understood, he had always known Mickey was special, but it was different now. Now he knew the older boy better than he knew himself, it was as easy as breathing for him to recall every amusing story, every dumb pun, every little snippet of info that Mickey had told him over the years, it was strange to think of a time when Mickey wasn't a part of his life.

Mickey frowned, rubbing at his lip like he did when he was really thinking about something. "You were real skinny back then," He commented, and his eyes roamed Ian's face before he continued. "and you had a shit ton more freckles, your face looked dirty, man."

Ian grinned again, internally chastising himself for underestimating how much Mickey could still surprise him. He threw his arm over the smaller man's shoulders, giggling as he spoke. "You were tiny, like five feet tall, and you actually _were_ dirty."

Mickey huffed indignantly, and that just made Ian crack up more. "Yeah, okay, laugh it up, at least I grew out of it, you're still all gangly and shit." He replied, reluctantly laughing along with him as he ducked out from under Ian's arm.

He prodded Mickey's ribcage. "I dunno, you're still pretty small, Mick."

"Fuck you, it ain't my fault you're a goddamn giant." Mickey retorted, flipping him off, and then Ian was laughing again.

He had been laughing a lot lately, and he couldn't help but think that it might have to do with something Lip had told him a while back. Laughing was supposed to be good for you, it could cut down on stress and increase your happiness. Sometimes he thought that if he laughed enough he could fix all the broken things in his life, and then that wouldn't work so he'd try other ways, he'd clean and work and cook and try to make his reality match up with the perfection he envisioned. He had stopped laughing, only realizing it when his lungs told him he had forgotten to breath, and he stared upwards again, searching for the star that he couldn't quite put a name on.

As he looked up, he caught sight of the branch that Mickey had sat in when he was ten years old, and he thought back to that summer, all the things he had wondered, and he spoke up with a question he had wanted to ask Mickey eight years beforehand.. "Why didja always sit up there?"

For a minute he thought he might not answer, and he glanced over at the brunette. Mickey's eyes were fixed on the sky his brow furrowed in thought. "I guess I was just…" He started, trailing off before he finished his sentence. Ian stayed quiet, letting Mickey compose his thoughts. "Pretending? Fuck, I dunno, man, it was a long time ago."

He was momentarily nonplussed by Mickey's choice in words. Why had he been pretending? But the more he thought about it the more it made sense. He had always seen the real Mickey through it all, but he remembered when half of what he had done and said had been an act, a broadway worthy performance with the whole damn world as his stage. It was strange to think about, but In a weird way he understood completely. "Maybe that's why I'm here."

Mickey's gaze shifted towards Ian, who turned his head towards his boyfriend. There was one moment of silence, a pregnant stretch of time during which Ian's breathing felt shallow. They were barely three inches a way from each other, so close that Ian could feel the smaller boy's breath as he exhaled shakily.

"Whatcha mean by that?" Mickey asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

He licked his lips, trying to inspect every inch of Mickey's face, committing to memory subtle groves and bumps that he had memorized long ago. "Maybe I'm here to pretend." He stated, and his voice sounded odd to his own ears.

The other boy's eyes clouded with confusion. "Pretend what?"

Ian looked straight at Mickey, forcing the idea that had been plaguing him for for far too long into words. "Pretend that I'm still Ian" The phrase tasted sour in his mouth, and he waited with baited breath for Mickey to speak.

"What d'ya mean pretend? You're still Ian." Mickey told him, and Ian wanted to believe him, wanted to be the Ian that the brunette had spoken to in this very spot when they were young.

"No I'm not. Not anymore, I've changed too much, I can't go back." He said, looking away from Mickey. He didn't know why he was telling Mickey this, he didn't know why he would ever want Mickey to know that the person he had fallen for had been altered to the point of being unrecognizable. Maybe it was because he was sick of pretending to be something he wasn't, and he definitely wasn't the same Ian that Mickey had gotten to know over the past three years. That Ian was steady, someone that people could lean on, that Ian was everything that he knew he would never be again, that Ian was dead.

"Fuck that." Mickey blurted out, and Ian startled in alarm. Mickey had fire in his eyes, and he shifted from his relaxed position agains the tree, swinging his right leg across both of Ian's so that he was straddling his thighs. He had to look up at Mickey now, and when he did he felt his heart hammer harder in his chest at the expression on the other boy's face. "You're still Ian." The shorter boy said, his voice no longer quiet, now it was strong and sure.

"You're still the same goddamn kid who used to wave at me when I sat up in this stupid fucking tree. You make horrible freaking jokes and sleep like a drunk starfish and like to fucking cuddle. You can be a cocky son of a bitch sometimes and you're just…." Mickey paused, slightly out of breath, and Ian didn't dare speak. His words were lodged in his throat and he didn't think he'd be able to look away from Mickey if he wanted to.

"Just _Ian_." The older boy finished. Ian felt a swooping feeling in his chest, something that built him up and felt more real and raw and _genuine_ than anything else he had experienced in the past couple weeks. Breathless laughter escaped through his mouth before he could stop it, unable to contain the feeling of pure glee that had overtaken him.

Mickey smiled at him, and Ian moved his hands to the small of his boyfriends back, pulling him closer slightly. Mickey dipped his head down a little so that they were at the same level, noses nearly touching.

"You get me, dumbass?" Mickey questioned, moving impossibly closer. Ian's head felt somewhere between the clouds and the stars, like he was breathing pure oxygen and his every thought was heightened. It was different from usual though, he wasn't spinning through a million images a minute, it was all one thought, one thought that throbbed like a heartbeat, saying _Mickey Mickey Mickey Mickey_.

"Okay." He managed to say, his eyes closed now, so close to the boy on top of him that he was basically speaking into his lips, the space between them infinitesimal.

They stayed there for a second, both of them breathing tremulously, their foreheads leaning together, breaths so intermingled that Ian wasn't sure if he was inhaling was even actually air anymore, and then Mickey closed the gap. It wasn't perfect, Ian felt shaky, and he had to grip tighter at the older boy to steady himself, but it was all he needed. He traced his tongue lightly across the lower part of Mickey's upper lip, and the brunette opened his mouth wider in response, thrusting his own tongue into Ian's mouth and moving his hands into Ian's unruly red hair.

Mickey tasted like sweat and cigarettes and vodka. Before he had met the shorter boy, Ian hadn't thought that you could be addicted to something like that, but as it turned out, it was everything he never knew he always wanted. He moved his right hand to grip at the back of Mickey's head, pulling him impossibly closer as he slid their tongues together, backing off momentarily to nip at the other boy's lower lip before shoving his tongue back into his mouth with more force.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, it could have been minutes, hours, months, years, maybe even an eternity, but when they finally pulled apart he had a new thought pulsating into every orifice of his being. _I love you I love you I love you I love you_. He couldn't say it, it was an impossibility that he was too drained to conquer today, but it seemed unthinkable that the shorter boy couldn't _feel_ it as he held onto Ian. Mickey was leaning back on his haunches, fixing Ian with a look that made him unquestionably certain that he had sensed it, that he knew exactly what Ian was thinking. His lips were red raw and his hair was rumpled slightly, giving him an appearance that was halfway between goofy and sexy.

"You wanna go?" He asked, tracing his thumb in absentminded circles on Ian's thigh.

He smiled before responding. "Yeah, let's go home."

He didn't need to be here anymore.


End file.
